Stilted, sloppy "Show' hypes rap performers like an ad

Barry Walters, EXAMINER STAFF CRITIC

Published 4:00 am, Friday, August 25, 1995

"THE SHOW" doesn't present what you'd call an objective look at the rap world. This film by Brian Robbins (former star of the ABC series "Head of the Class" ) is presented in association with Russell Simmons, the rap mogul who owns Def Jam, one of the longest running and most successful rap labels, and manages plenty of the music's superstars. Not only do his acts dominate this film: Simmons appears in nearly every other scene. Although it's promoted as film's first "rapumentary," "The Show" is more like a feature-length infomercial.

The best parts are often those that show the rappers either in their element or venturing outside it. We get to see the Notorious B.I.G. with his mom and Naughty By Nature hang out in their New Jersey neighborhood. Wu-Tang Clan travel to Japan, where their fans mouth their words in concert, greet them on the street like visiting gods and throw down a few rhymes of their own.

President Trump addresses nation after mass shooting at Florida SchoolWhite House

In a telling sequence, the members of Wu-Tang Clan have an argument while riding on a speeding train. When one member of the group disrespects leader Method Man, the rapper claims that he's being attacked just because the film is rolling.

Not only the performance sequences look contrived. Nearly every scene seems to be created solely for the camera. Although most rappers pride themselves on the reality of their work, "The Show" has a stilted, staged quality that's closer to advertising than documentary filmmaking.

We get to see Snoop Doggy Dogg and his crew hang out in the studio. Warren G is shown vacuuming his bus and scoffing at the thought of paying a hairdresser to work with his rapping female support. Simmons goes to visit incarcerated rapper Slick Rick and confesses that he's only seeing Slick for the movie.

Interspersed throughout the film are snippets of interviews with other rappers and their bosses. The editing is sloppy: Topics emerge and performers appear in one scene only to be dropped by the next.

The sharpest observation comes from Andre Harrell, former rapper and currently the man behind Uptown, the hugely successful record label that strengthened the bridge between hip-hop and R&B with acts like Mary J. Blige and Jodeci. Harrell points out that the first generation of rap stars to emerge in the late '70s and early '80s was the last generation to benefit from a political environment that emphasized education, affirmative action and social programs targeted to inner-city youth - and that the current crop of rappers, with their angry lyrics and gangsta presentation, are the product of the educational and welfare cutbacks of Reaganomics. Their nihilism reflects the culture at large.

This point is driven home by the difference between the old-school rappers and the new jacks. The older generation comes across as articulate, thoughtful, sober and together. Many of younger rappers speak in fragments, show contempt for their peers, extoll the virtues of pot (some are shown smoking it) and admit that their attitudes aren't healthy.

The Notorious B.I.G. in particular babbles on so pathetically that the viewers in a recent preview presented by KMEL (the same radio station that plays his records nearly every hour) were laughing at him. Even his mother's reservations about her son's behavior is obvious. Whereas crossover veterans Run-D.M.C. radiate genuine star power, rappers like Method Man and Snoop amble around the stage as if they were still at home. But of course Run-D.M.C. looks good: Joseph "Run" Simmons is Russell's brother.